Failing to awaken meant many things in Northbrook.
Mostly, it meant work.
By the third morning after the test, Cael was officially reassigned as a labor servant. His days became a steady rotation of hauling supplies, scrubbing training platforms, and carrying crates of dried herbs from one storehouse to another. None of it was cruel work, just endless and thankless.
The newly awakened outer disciples made sure he noticed the difference.
They passed him in clean robes, spiritual energy still unfamiliar enough that they couldn't help letting it leak from their bodies. They laughed louder than necessary. Stood a little too close.
One of them—broad-shouldered and flushed with recent success—shouldered past Cael deliberately.
"Careful," the disciple said with a grin. "Laborers bruise easily."
The others laughed.
Cael said nothing. He adjusted the crate in his arms and kept walking. The breathing pattern he'd been practicing steadied him, but it didn't give him words sharp enough to matter.
"Enough."
The single word cut cleanly through the noise.
An elder stood nearby, hands tucked into his sleeves, posture relaxed to the point of indifference. His robes were plain, worn soft by time. He didn't raise his voice.
He didn't need to.
"Labor assignments do not include harassment," the elder said mildly. "If you're that energetic, I can recommend intense training."
The laughter died instantly.
A few disciples stiffened. One swallowed hard.
"Apologies, Elder," someone muttered.
They dispersed quickly.
The elder turned to Cael.
"You're Cael," he said.
Cael bowed. "Yes, Elder."
"Come with me."
Cael hesitated only a moment before following.
They walked toward the quieter edge of the sect, where stone paths narrowed and sound faded. The library stood there beneath old trees, its walls darkened by age rather than neglect.
Inside, the scent of paper and dust filled the air.
"This is the sect library," the elder said. "I'm responsible for it."
Cael waited.
"Most people call me the Bookkeeper."
That explained nothing.
"My work includes preserving manuals and guiding disciples toward techniques that suit them rather than break them," the Bookkeeper continued. "I need an apprentice."
Cael blinked. "Me?"
"You can read," the Bookkeeper said.
"Yes, Elder, but—"
"And you didn't awaken," the Bookkeeper added calmly. "Which means you have time. And fewer habits to unlearn."
Cael hesitated. "Why offer this to me?"
"Because you didn't complain," the Bookkeeper said. "And because you listen."
Before Cael could respond—
"ELDER!"
A voice cut in loudly and far too close.
A young disciple hurried over, eyes bright, smile wide, excitement spilling out of him unchecked. He barely glanced at Cael.
"I heard you were free! I just awakened yesterday and I wanted to ask—could you recommend a powerful secret manual? Something fierce. Something that makes people respect you right away."
The Bookkeeper slowly turned.
He looked the disciple up and down.
Then he said, pleasantly, "Based on your temperament?"
"Yes!" the disciple said eagerly.
"I recommend The Manual of Silent Reflection," the Bookkeeper replied. "It involves sitting down, being quiet, and not interrupting conversations."
The disciple froze.
"I—Elder, I didn't mean—"
"No, you did," the Bookkeeper said gently. "And that's the problem."
The disciple's ears turned red. He bowed hastily and retreated without another word.
Cael pressed his lips together.
"For future reference," the Bookkeeper added as they resumed walking, "interrupting elders is an excellent way to receive techniques that fix personality defects."
"…Is that common?" Cael asked carefully.
"Distressingly."
They stopped before a long aisle of sealed shelves.
"You'll be allowed to study a limited selection of secret manuals," the Bookkeeper said. "Not to practice them recklessly—just to observe, follow their principles, and let them pressure your body slowly."
Cael looked up.
"That kind of exposure may help your body gradually accept cultivation," the elder continued. "Or it may do nothing. Awakening through this method is not guaranteed."
Cael thought of the courtyard. Of crates and laughter and silence.
"I accept," he said.
The Bookkeeper smiled faintly. "Good. Techniques should never be easy—but they should be available."
As Cael followed him between towering shelves, dust drifting in the light, he felt something unfamiliar settle in his chest.
Not strength.
Not certainty.
Just the quiet sense that his path, whatever it was, had finally narrowed into something real.
And for now—
That was enough.